


Smoke and Mirrors

by Kameo (Brainygiirl)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Discipline, Hand Jobs, John Watson is cleverer, Light BDSM, M/M, Praise Kink, Sherlock is a Brat, Sherlock thinks he's clever, Smoking or the lack thereof, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 16:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15004718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brainygiirl/pseuds/Kameo
Summary: Sherlock is behaving and it's interfering with his desire for a spanking.Written for the Come at Once challenge for the prompt "Smoke".





	Smoke and Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to CumberCurlyGirl for emergency beta services and cheerleading above and beyond the call of duty. And to my twitter pals for having faith in me. I can't believe I made it in 24 hours. 
> 
> The prompt was "smoke".

I’m actually behaving myself. John, of course, thinks it’s the spankings. Laughable. I have scars on my back. I went to public school! If he’d threaten me with the cane, perhaps the memories would be intimidating, but a spanking? It’s the sad look on his face every time I break one of his bloody rules. It’s humiliating. 

“We agreed you’d eat at least every twelve hours. It makes me worry when you don’t take care of yourself.” A deep sigh. 

“You promised you’d bin the maggots, Sherlock. I’m really quite disappointed.” That hurt look. 

I can’t bear it. I cannot tolerate the thought that he might be upset with me. I don’t mind him getting cross. I can easily ignore the shouting. But let the man give me one mournful glance, and I’m vowing never to misbehave again. 

And what is that prickly feeling in my trousers when he says I’ve been a good boy? I do not blush. I have never blushed. 

The truth is…I miss the spankings. It makes no sense whatsoever. Damned sentiment! Altering my nervous system, corrupting my biological imperatives! 

But there is no explanation or remedy for it. I am yearning to be spread across the man’s ridiculously small lap with my arse bared, waiting for him to spank me. The anticipation is delicious. The sharp sound, the glorious sting, the growing heat, his tenderness afterwards…

Where was I? I’ve lost my train of thought! It’s unacceptable and it will not stand. 

I have a plan. It will require exquisite timing and all of my dramatic skills. And a transgression that merits a spanking: smoking. 

No one within twenty miles will sell me one. Regardless, I cannot risk smoking an actual cigarette. There are too many people invested in my ultimate success—Damn! People! Another sign of my diminishing capacity for independence. 

Analysis later. This is a problem which has a solution. John has a full day at the clinic, meaning his estimated time of arrival at home is 5:30. Gareth has at least two cigarettes during his work day. I know he has to be in court by 4:00 this afternoon. This means I must reek of tobacco by 3:30 but find a secure waiting area for two hours. The usual spots are out. I cannot wait in the lab. Molly would be disappoint—WOULD GIVE ME AWAY. I do not CARE what Molly thinks. Very much. Diogenes Club as well; similar reasons. I cannot even walk the streets. It is quite possible that my previously loyal homeless network has been compromised by bribes in exchange for information on my personal habits. 

A cab! The enclosed space will preserve the odor. Brilliant! I will sit in a cab outside Baker Street and await John’s arrival. I must be at the door and allow him to come close enough to smell the smoke, which will, I hope, still be pervasive. I will have to take care not to actually lie. Is the failure to correct an inaccurate assumption lying? I will ask for clarification later. He will be disappointed, but after the spanking, I will be forgiven. I will decide later on whether to reveal the whole truth. John might even be pleased with me for resisting temptation and call me his good boy! 

Oh God, how humiliating. I’m lost. 

I breakfast with John, which raises his suspicions initially, but he is pleased by my toast consumption, so it passes. I explain that I have various trivial matters to attend to at The Yard and in the lab and bid him farewell at his usual hour. I put on a few patches to ward off temptation, tidy up the mind palace for a few hours and do a bit of quick research on the comparative odor retention of cotton, silk, and wool. Data trends are somewhat conclusive but woefully deficient. I plan several experiments for the lab. John has forbidden olfactory experimentation in the flat, even though the rotten eggs were clearly an accident. I’m off. 

Grant is somewhat startled to hear that I wish to complete paperwork, but I ignore him and work until his cigarette break. When I follow him down, he says, “What are you doing? If you think I’m giving you a cigarette your off your head. It’d kill him if you had a smoke after all this time. And then he’d kill me for letting you have one.” 

This rankles and I answer, “He’s not my keeper.”

He gives me a very insolent look and makes a rude noise. “Yeah, he is. He’s kept you in one piece hasn’t he? And he’s kept everybody else from killin’ ya. Berk.”

I decide not to argue the point. Counterproductive to the end goal. “I’m not going to smoke firsthand. Just inhale yours.”

He looks sceptical. “Is that allowed?”

“Yes, John said—I don’t need permission!”

“Well, if you’re sure he says it’s all right…”

I ignore him. End goal. 

When we start downstairs, he says, “You’re going outside without your coat?” 

Wool retains little to no odor. Silk is far more absorbent. I say, “Experiment.”

When we get downstairs, he lights up and I breathe in as deeply as I can. It’s not as painful as it once was. I lean closer and fluff my hair to provide more surface area for the smoke to cling to. 

When he is about to throw the butt to the ground, I snatch it from him and wave it close to my chest, along my collar and down my arms. Glenn continues with his insolence, saying, “I don’t wanna know.” As if I would tell him. We repeat the procedure later in the afternoon and at 3:30, I follow him out of the building. 

I am shocked to see John waiting at the kerb. I realize that this is actually an improvement over the original plan. I use my surprise at seeing him to project guilt. Stuttering, I say, “John! What are you doing here?”

“Slow day. Thought I’d pick you up. Greg.” They wave at one another as Gordon drives off. “Get us a cab and let’s go home.”

I unbutton my coat and check for the odor level. Unmistakable. John leans towards me and sniffs. “Is that smoke?”

With feigned ignorance, I reply, “What?”

“I smell smoke. Did you smoke a cigarette?”

I remind myself not to lie. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He sighs. I must remain steadfast. I try to avoid looking at him, but I fail. He looks very sad and my impulse is to blurt out the truth, but I pinch my leg and remind myself: end goal.

“How could you, Sherlock? You should have called me.”

I feel so remorseful that I’m no longer relying on my dramatic skills. “John, I…I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I’m sure you already know what I’m going to have to do.”

Oh, God, yes. I’ve done it. End goal. I allow my anticipation to present itself as anxiety and the rest of the ride home is silent. 

By the time we reach Baker Street and enter the flat, I am actually trembling with excitement. John takes my coat and says, “You stink. Strip.” As I do, he prepares himself, sitting on the sofa and then patting his knee. 

As I approach, I say, “John, I’m sorry.”

He says, “Not yet, no. Soon.”

I lay myself across his lap and feel the first swelling in my groin. He shifts his legs so there is no chance of my meeting with any friction. That will have to wait for later. Now, I resolve, I will focus on the experience I’ve worked so hard for. 

John begins by rubbing his hand over my cool skin and I shiver. I feel him lift his hand and when it drops, the shock of the sound outweighs the sting. He begins a barrage without rhythm or logic of any kind and I feel myself letting go of words and then thought itself. There is nothing but the feel of his hand and the sharp ache that penetrates straight through me to my cock. I start to move, to writhe, forward seeking stimulation in one direction and avoiding it in the other. The competing sensations of pain, excitement, shame, and pleasure, leave me in a hazy dream where I float, in perfect equilibrium, needing nothing but what John gives me.

And then the equilibrium is shattered when I feel the hand pressed against my back slipping around to stroke my cock. I throw my head up and arch my back. I gasp his name and he answers, “Shh, I’m here.” 

The maddening slide of his fist has me thrusting and panting, while he never slows in covering my arse with the heat of his hand. I hear cries and don’t connect them to my own actions. Just as I think I cannot bear the impact of one more blow, he begins to rub instead and speeds up the stroking of my cock and I come and come and come, shaking until he soothes me to stillness. Then he draws me up to sit, gently on his lap, holding me close and whispering nonsense that fills a hole inside me. 

When I come back to myself, I am mystified. It was perfect. It was more than I ever thought... “That did not seem very much like a punishment, John.”

He runs his fingers through my hair and I struggle to stay coherent. “Oh, it wasn’t. That was a reward. For not smoking. You see, the surveillance team alerted Mycroft that you were heading out on Greg’s cigarette break, and he sent me the footage. I observed. And I figured out what you were after. The punishment will come later.”

He is smug. It should be infuriating. “Punishment? I didn’t smoke!”

“Obviously. The punishment is for lying to get what you want, and yes, trying to trick me is lying, so no arguments.” He puts his finger over my mouth to keep me from speaking but I feel so calm and happy, I cannot be arsed to object.

He kisses me, all over my face and says, “You should have just asked. Did you think I would tease you? Or say no? I want you to be happy. You’re my good boy.”

I shiver again and curl my face into his neck and he hugs me harder. I’m an idiot. But I’m still clever and I point out my advantage. 

“You’re not going to be able to punish me anymore, are you? Spanking won’t work.”

He is more smug than ever. “Oh, spanking will work. Your punishment is no spanking for a month. And after that, you’ll have to earn every single one.”


End file.
